


Tilting at Windmills

by and_every_day_the_myriad_happenings



Category: Baldur's Gate, Baldur's Gate III, Forgotten Realms
Genre: F/M, Humor, Lots of UST, Romantic Friendship, Tav has had enough of everyone's bs, UST, except shadowheart, he's biased when it comes to her lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29576355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/and_every_day_the_myriad_happenings/pseuds/and_every_day_the_myriad_happenings
Summary: Since the nautiloid crashed, Tav hasn't gone a day without someone or something trying to stab him, eat him, dismember him, blow him up, poison him, or, worst of all, give him sass. And he's starting to get very tired of it all.
Relationships: Shadowheart/Charname
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Tilting at Windmills

_“Truly I was born to be an example of misfortune, and a target at which the arrows of adversary are aimed.”_ –Don Quixote

Tav was in a foul mood.

He held a certain affection for good boots. They were, in his humble opinion, the most important piece of equipment for any hunter worth their salt. Well-constructed boots provided protection from the elements, kept feet warm, and allowed light steps. This pair had served Tav without fail for years; he’d rewarded their unflinching loyalty with careful, loving maintenance. Many a night had been spent cleaning, patching, and retooling the leather, quiet moments Tav could look back on fondly.

And now his boots were ruined.

Spider entrails and Ettercap guts strangled the tongue, arch, and laces. Acid had worn away the soles to the point where he could almost feel the gravel beneath his feet. Goblin blood soaked through the back stay and toe cap. Worst of all was the webbing staining his heels, catching every time he lifted his foot, almost throwing him off-balance.

The visit to the Blighted Village had been one disaster after another. Goblins, undead, spiders, rumors of gnolls—what next? Dragons? Beholders? At least they’d avoided a conflict with the ogres. The horn clinked against his hip, a reassuring option if things went south. Or, more south.

Tav’s boots made a disgusting squelching sound as he dropped down into an abandoned home. Straightening, he scowled, hoisting the deep gnome’s pack higher over his shoulder. After wading through a river of goblins to rescue the man, Tav sure as hell wasn’t letting go of his reward anytime soon.

He ran a hand through his dark curls, glancing around the room. Dust coated a shelf filled with cracked plates and various empty crates in various states of disrepair. A portrait of an older dwarf stared down at them with yellowed eyes, the oil faded and peeling. No one had been here for some time, clearly, much like the rest of the village. Well, unless you counted goblins, which Tav didn’t.

Maybe they could spend the night here. It came across as safe and defensible shelter. Although being so near a potential phase spider nest—and the rest of the goblin horde—didn’t sound appealing. It wouldn’t hurt to check things out, though. Probably.

Lae’zel, Gale, and Shadowheart landed behind him. If Tav attempted exploring beneath the village again, perhaps he’d bring Wyll and Astarion instead, as both could see in the dark. Sometimes Tav forgot others weren’t born with natural night vision: the perks of being a half-drow. One of few. He rolled his shoulder, still numb from the aftereffects of poison, grimaced, and then waved for the others to wait there.

“Tch.” Lae’zel folded her arms, displeasure obvious.

“Make sure nothing comes crawling out after us,” Tav explained.

Lae’zel’s expression didn’t change, but she also didn’t protest further, instead raising her chin high. Realizing that leaving Lae’zel and Shadowheart in close quarters together had potential for an absolute disaster, Tav beckoned Shadowheart to follow. The last thing he currently wanted was companionship, but such was his life post-tadpole. Gale slumped onto a crate, face wan, uninterested in sharing his opinion. For once.

Tav stomped out.

The abandoned home was blessedly quiet. No goblins jeering, no gnomes screaming, no ogres eating, nothing. Just. Silence. Beautiful and pure. He closed his eyes, relaxing somewhat.

“Try not to lean too hard into the whole sunshine and roses. It might prove catching,” Shadowheart quipped as they walked down the hall.

Ruined, just like his boots.

He glowered at her over his shoulder. Everyone seemed determined to test his patience today. Tav had worked contracts with difficult people before, but this was ridiculous. From Astarion’s sneaking around to Shadowheart’s secrecy to Gale’s… everything, Tav felt like he was shooting at a target blind and half-cocked. That they might suddenly suffer an agonizing transformation made it even more galling.

The abandoned home must’ve belonged to a blacksmith because the hallway transitioned into what was clearly a forge. Weapons lined the walls, bellows and a furnace occupying the center of the room. Sunlight strained through dirty windows, illuminating dancing motes of dust.

Shadowheart padded over to a greatsword, picking it up with a grunt and idly swinging it back and forth. Her ability to step without disturbing shadows was always mesmerizing. Tav watched her, the dark clouds dissipating somewhat, then scowled, telling himself to snap out of it.

A chest sat tucked away in the corner. He approached, kneeling to fiddle with the lock, noticing the traces of smokepowder too late.

BANG.

Tav went flying backward, hitting the floor hard. All the air wooshed out of his lungs with an oof. He rolled around, swearing loudly, before flopping face down, vanquished by a chest. This was definitely the lowest point in a series of low points. The scent of singed hair lingered around him. Nothing else happened.

He sat up. Chips of charred wood tumbled off his prone form. Shadowheart was staring at him from across the room, a mixture of surprise and concern and amusement warring for supremacy on her irritatingly pretty face, the point of the greatsword pointed downward. If Gale or Lae’zel had heard the commotion, they couldn’t be bothered to investigate. Wankers.

“That’s it!” Tav leapt to his feet. “I'm done! I quit!”

Shadowheart blinked, cocking her head. “Interesting. What are you quitting, exactly?”

“Just—everything. All of it!” He threw up his arms and spun around, scowling at the smoking remains of the chest. 

“Well, now you’re acting childish.”

He spun back around, outraged. Shadowheart clearly underestimated the severity of his frustration. The dam broke free, then.

“Childish? Childish?! I’ve been the only mature one in this whole damn group! Hells, not even just this group, this whole area! I mean, gods sake, we fight off a horde of goblins for that blasted deep gnome, and then _he_ judges _me_ for wanting payment? Yes, of course it’s bloody typical to want payment!”

“Please. They were but mere goblins.”

“Gale _died_. Remember that?” Tav threw down the gnome’s pack in a fit of pique.

“Vividly, yes.”

“I had to strangle a worg while his blasted projection kept yammering on about protocol!”

“A protocol you would’ve bungled if not for us.” Shadowheart’s mouth was twitching. Tav snorted. 

“Do I look like one for riddles? And yet I went through it anyway when another wouldn’t have bothered. But I digress. What do we get for our trouble? A pinch of smokepowder and an apple. An apple!” Tav whipped out said apple, brandishing it for emphasis. “Do you realize how much a bounty like that would cost in Baldur’s Gate? Because you better believe it’d be more than a measly pouch of powder.”

Stalking toward him, Shadowheart plucked the apple from his grip and began munching on it, listening attentively. Incensed, Tav kept going. It felt good to rant, cathartic to release all the swallowed retorts in the face of unrelenting abrasiveness.

“So not only do I revive Gale—which, by the way, resurrection scrolls? You can sell those for a _lot_ of money—after jumping through circus hoops, but I’m given mum for an explanation. Zilch. Nada. I am so sick of all the secrets. From Gale, from Wyll, from you, from Astarion.

“We have ticking time bombs in our heads! Everyone else talks about that, but it feels like I’m the only one _actually doing_ something about it. And I just wish, I just want someone to recognize that.”

Shadowheart thoughtfully wiped some of the apple juice beading under her lip away. The muscles in her cheeks and neck worked as she chewed and swallowed. Sidetracked, Tav stuttered to a halt, staring despite himself. He coughed, anger cooling.

Suddenly Tav felt foolish. He finished, rather lamely, by saying, “Would it have been so hard for that gnome to show some damn gratitude?”

“Oh, I agree. He was quite rude. And the shrieking from the windmill. I might’ve sent him flying just for that,” Shadowheart said, placing the apple core on the work desk behind her, absently sucking on her fingers. She had a wicked gleam in her eye. Evil, evil woman.

Tav’s eyes glazed over as he indulged himself in violent fantasy. Never had a button been so tempting before. He revised the fantasy somewhat, featuring a guest appearance from a dripping wet, half-naked Shadowheart. She would be draped across a rock, pale skin glowing and dark hair flowing, watching him with those pretty eyes and that maddening head tilt as he unleashed the gnome like payload in a trebuchet...

“You’re drooling,” said the fully clothed, dry version of Shadowheart standing before him in reality.

Heat warmed his face as common sense reasserted itself. The embarrassment increased tenfold. Tav hoped the other hadn’t heard him, Lae’zel would never let him live it down.

“You know, this may be the most I’ve ever heard you speak, even if we combined every other conversation.”

“Enough personality for you?” Tav asked, somewhat grumpy again.

“A refreshing change of pace.” Shadowheart patted him on the cheek, palms somehow both calloused and soft, before moving past to investigate the chest. “The strong, silent routine was growing stale.”

Tav rolled his eyes. She could’ve at least healed him. He knew it wouldn’t have made sense to waste a spell slot, though, and even agreed with the general pragmatism. But still. So much for the nurturing cleric.

He noticed a ledge above Shadowheart’s head. There had been a ladder, now knocked over and broken apart from the blast. Tav jumped, hauling himself up with a grunt. Below, Shadowheart murmured her annoyance, but she seemed preoccupied by whatever was in the chest.

A sword hung in a display, coated in dust. He took it off its hooks, blowing it clean, oddly reverent. The craftsmanship was remarkable, and runes inlaid in the steel glowed a soft gold beneath the dirt. Beautiful.

“You know,” Shadowheart called out, “you want us to divulge our secrets, and yet you refuse to speak of your own past. Quid pro quo, yes?”

Tav frowned. He didn’t answer right away, testing the weight of the shortsword, before jumping back down. Shadowheart was studying blueprints, and he hovered over her shoulder.

“There’s not much to tell.”

Weapon designs. And a list of ingredients, including—

“Sussur bark?” Shadowheart said, more to herself, brow quartered in concentration.

The Underdark. Tav made a face. He tapped Shadowheart lightly on the shoulder with the shortsword. She whirled around, tense and scowling, although her eyes alighted on the weapon with obvious interest.

“Perhaps there’s not much to tell on our end, either.”

Tav hummed under his breath in reply. He tapped her on the other shoulder, an overdramatic mock knighting ceremony, before kneeling and presenting the weapon to her. Her scoff echoed in the quiet, but after a pause, she took it from him.

Shadowheart was examining the shortsword closely. Tav straightened with a smile. His boots were still ruined, but it could be worse. He could be a mind flayer. That sobering reality always put certain issues in perspective.

“Adequate,” she announced, sheathing it by her side.

He extended a hand with a haughty flourish. Shadowheart smirked, tilting her head, before taking his hand and gracing his knuckles with a quick brush of the lip. A faint blush dusted pink along her cheeks. Entranced, Tav just watched it happen, heat settling below his navel and warming his entire core.

A piercing headache struck him, then. The tadpole throbbed. Tav staggered, grimacing, as images flashed behind his eyes: a bugbear rolling off a female ogre, Astarion backing away, Wyll shouting something. His companions were in danger.

Shadowheart seemed similarly punch drunk, stepping back. They exchanged disbelieving glances. A bard couldn’t make this shit up. Tav laughed despite himself.

“More trouble than they’re worth,” Shadowheart muttered.

“Perhaps collars would be useful.”

“Only if they came with leashes and bells.” She eyed Tav in a way that made him blush. Focus.

Nabbing the greatsword for Lae’zel, Tav turned away. They took off in unison to deal with their newest problem. A commotion echoed down the hall; the others had no doubt also received the visions.

It would never end, apparently.

**Author's Note:**

> The panel from hell made me happy. Mostly though I just want the romance cutscenes to not be totally borked lmao. Fingers crossed for that.


End file.
